


bet on it (with the old north wind)

by nateheywood



Series: Coldwave Winter Week 2018 [4]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Bets & Wagers, Coldwave Winter Week 2018, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cute, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Ugly Holiday Sweaters, and he has a Thing for bets, len is the north wind, mick is just a human who has to deal with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 05:34:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17094836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nateheywood/pseuds/nateheywood
Summary: It starts as most bets do between them: Mick says something completely innocent, and Len immediately makes a challenge out of it.Luckily, Mick is endeared to him.Or, in which Len and Mick make a bet - if Mick can find something warm that Len likes by the end of the week, Len will wear an ugly Christmas sweater and suffer through cheesy Christmas movies. If he doesn't, he has to figure out a way to go ice skating without dying.It's harder than it sounds, mostly because Len is the North Wind.





	bet on it (with the old north wind)

**Author's Note:**

> So this is Beware_The_Ravenstag's au that I'm completely in love with... she has graciously allowed me to play around with it! This was probably my favorite one to write this week!
> 
> Prompt chosen: Gods / Myths & Legends
> 
> Extras: #18 Hot Chocolate and Mini Marshmallows & #1 Terrible Christmas/Festive Sweaters

It starts as most bets do between them: Mick says something completely innocent, and Len immediately makes a challenge out of it. 

Luckily, Mick is endeared to him.

“God,” Mick says, raising his eyebrows. “Don’t you like  _ anything  _ warm?”

Len, who had been loudly complaining about how hot the sunshine was making the car as it stretched across his and Mick’s laps not a second ago, smirks. “I  _ am  _ one icy bastard,” he says, and Mick rolls his eyes. 

Is it weird, having the north wind personified in his passenger seat? Yes. It’s even weirder that Mick is dating him, but, such is his life. Now he has to deal with it.

“Bet I could find something warm you’d like,” Mick says as he turns a corner, only halfway meaning it. 

“Besides you, you mean,” Len leers, and Mick hums. Before Len gives in to his seemingly innate urge to make a game out of everything, there’s about thirty seconds of silence. It’s actually pretty remarkable, for Len.

“If you can’t find something by the end of the week, you have to go ice skating with me,” he decides, and Mick looks at him.

“I didn’t agree to that,” he points out, and Len just shrugs. 

“You made the initial bet,” he says, and Mick sighs, looking back out at the road. Len is a little too keen on deals and bets and challenges, likely because he’s used to sending various heroes and challengers on wild quests to win his favor. Mick maintains that it’s just because Len doesn’t know how to interact with people like a normal person.

“Fine,” Mick says. “Then if I win, you have to wear an ugly Christmas sweater.”

Len smirks. “Deal.” He reaches out to shake Mick’s hand, but Mick holds up one finger.

“And,” he says, “you have to watch at least two Christmas movies with me.”

Len makes a face, but reaches his hand out again. Mick takes it. There’s the distinct  _ pop!  _ of a deal being made, and a blast of cold air blows from the vents before the usual heat blows out again.

Really, it shouldn’t be hard. Heat was awesome, especially during this season.

-

Mick’s first attempt, even he will admit, is probably a little heavy handed, considering that Len can’t even stand to be in a room above 75 degrees and quite possibly is actually made of snow. 

Mick is doing laundry when he has the idea, and as he puts in a load of clothing to wash, he tosses a couple of blankets into the dryer for fifteen minutes. Nothing feels better than a blanket fresh out of the dryer.  _ Nothing. _

Mick pokes his head into the living room to check on Len. He’s reading, laid out on the couch with his head against the armrest, twirling his right finger absentmindedly. Mick narrows his eyes at it. 

He’s not dumb, he knows Len’s the one creating the blizzard - he’s the  _ north wind  _ \- but it’s awfully coincidental that he just happened to schedule one to roll in the night Mick was supposed to go in for work.

And yes. Len schedules his storms. The weather may seem random and unpredictable, but Len plans them that way.

He putters around before the dryer beeps at him, and he’s immediately at the machine, wrapping one blanket around himself and grabbing the other to throw on top of Len. He stomps into the living room with it, one hand keeping his own blanket around his shoulders, and drapes it neatly across Len’s form.

Len immediately kicks it off, sneering. “What did you  _ do  _ to that?” he asks. Len has been known to enjoy the cool weight of a blanket before it warms with his body heat.

“Ran it through the dryer,” Mick says, scooping up the blanket and throwing it back onto Len. “And you have to try it for at least ten minutes. ‘S not fair otherwise.”

Len purses his lips, narrowing his eyes at Mick. “I didn’t expect to suffer for this deal,” he says, shifting uncomfortably. Mick snorts as he lifts Len’s legs to sit down, laying them back down on his lap.

“Tough shit,” he says, and turns on the game. Len exhales through his nose and pulls his arms out of the blanket. Mick raises one eyebrow.

Len puts his arms back under the blanket.

Five minutes pass, and Mick is just bemoaning the loss of warmth from his quilt when Len throws his to the floor violently. He even wriggles out of the thick blue sweater he’d been wearing, and flings that to the floor as well. Mick looks over at him, and doubles back.

“ _ Jesus _ ,” he says.

Len is drenched in sweat,  _ drenched _ , cheeks flushed, and he watches a bead of it run down from Len’s temple to his jawline. “Are you  _ melting _ ?” God, if he’s melted his partner, he’ll never forgive himself.

“ _ No, _ ” Len snaps, and he looks tempted to take off his undershirt. He looks disheveled, which is not a look Mick is used to on him. “It’s just that I might die of heat exhaustion.”

Mick grimaces, unsure if Len’s joking or not. He probably is, but it’s best not to take chances. Len is like a delicate flower when it comes to heat. “You can do the thing,” Mick says, grudgingly. “Y’know,” he sighs, when Len looks at him questioningly, “the cold thing.”

Len doesn’t even hesitate. He sucks in a deep breath and blows, a strong bout of wind coming from his lips and whipping around the room, sending stray papers and even Len’s paperback fluttering into the air as the temperature drops at least thirty degrees. Len stops blowing after a few seconds and leans back, sighing in relief as his eyes close.

“Thank you,” Len says, quietly, and Mick knows he’s made the right call. The heater audibly kicks into high gear in order to combat the sudden cold, and Mick tugs his blanket tighter around himself.

“Y’didn’t actually have to keep the blanket on,” he says, after a beat.

Len shrugs. “I’m fine,” he drawls, which is awfully bold for someone that was complaining of heat exhaustion moments earlier. “The important thing is, you haven’t won the bet.”

“I still have a week,” Mick says, pointing at him.

“True,” Len says, but the expression on his face tells Mick that he thinks he has no chance. Mick scowls.

“I know at least one thing you like,” he growls, shifting around until he’s straddling Len’s waist. Len looks at him, eyebrows raised.

“I took that off the table,” he reminds Mick, and Mick smirks.

“You didn’t make it official,” he says, leaning down to nibble at the shell of Len’s ear. Len squirms, hands going to settle on Mick’s hips. “But I’ll let you have it. I like challenges,” Mick growls, making his voice a deep rumble, lips right up against Len’s ear. Len shies away from him, laughing, before Mick pulls him in for a proper kiss. 

-

Mick decides to go about his second attempt in a different way. 

He figures: get Len something he already knows he likes. Foolproof.

He gets Len a fancy new parka, the same shade of blue as the one he already has, with softer, longer fur lining the entire hood, so that it frames the face of the wearer. The parka itself is also of a higher quality, rather than the cheap puffiness of the one that’s become Len’s staple fashion piece.

He’s just made it inside from buying it when Len pops into the living room, bringing a small burst of cold air with him. He’s wearing his parka, and Mick can’t help but think that this is his greatest stroke of genius to date. If he manages to get rid of Len’s ugly coat in the process of winning the bet, he’ll be congratulating himself for years.

“Hi,” Mick says, and Len smirks, opening his mouth to say something before his eyes land on the large plastic bag in Mick’s hand.

“What do we have here?” he drawls, and he pops over with another burst of freezing air. Mick hands the bag to him.

“Gotcha somethin’,” he says sweetly. “Try this on for size.”

Len narrows his eyes at him, lifting the parka out of the bag and holding it out in front of him. Mick waits for the pop of a deal finishing off, and is frankly astounded when it never comes.

“Your taste really is that bad, huh?” he asks, and Len glares at him.

“Is this for the bet?” he asks, and drops the parka back into the bag. Mick realizes that the long period of silence while Len was looking at it was probably Len deciding how to handle receiving a gift he hated, and he’s a little hurt by it, but it’s fine. It’s fine.

“Thought I could knock out two birds with one stone,” he says, “The bet, and your ugly-ass coat.”

Len hugs his parka protectively, eyes narrowed and even a little flinty. Mick rolls his eyes. God.

“Fuck you,” he says, coolly. “I have great taste. You just need to get better at gift-giving.” 

“You would know,” Mick says, sounding a little more petulant than he’d like. “With how great you are at receiving ‘em, and all.” 

They stare at each other for a little while until something must show on Mick’s face, because Len’s expression suddenly softens, albeit almost imperceptibly. Most of Len’s expressions are pretty hard to read, so Mick counts this as a win.

“Point taken,” Len says. “I could stand to be a little gracious. When your intentions are pure.” He walks into Mick’s space and gives him a smack on the lips. It feels somehow sarcastic, and Len confirms it when he opens his mouth again. “For good luck,” he says. “Since your’s has been so shitty lately, with your two failures and all.”

“Fuck you.”

-

They’re lying in bed when Mick gets hit with inspiration for the third attempt. 

He’s on his side, facing the edge of the bed, when Len finishes up in the bathroom and crawls in beside him.

“Managed not to freeze the sink this time,” he says, and Mick’s response is replaced with an embarrassing yelp as Len’s icy fingers wrap around his waist. To add insult to injury, he wedges his frozen feet in between Mick’s calves.

There’s a reason Mick prefers to be the big spoon.

“ _ Len, _ ” he growls, attempting to pry Len’s hands away from his stomach, but Len has a remarkable strength in his fingers that Mick chalks up to being a divine entity. “You’re too  _ cold.” _

“I know,” Len says. “That’s why I’m warming them up.”

“Does it have to be on me?” Mick asks, and he regrets agreeing that he doesn’t count as a warm thing that Len likes. Len hums, pressing his face into the space between Mick’s shoulder blades.

“Let me know if you come up with a better solution,” Len says, and Mick is enjoying the vibration of his voice before an idea suddenly pops into his mind.

A light bulb might as well go off above his head, it’s so sudden.

In morning, after Len pops off to do some sort of wind duty, Mick goes out and buys the thickest, warmest pair of socks he can find. 

“Fifteen minutes,” he says, tossing them at Len when he appears on the armchair that night. “Shouldn’t hurt.”

“Maybe not physically,” Len mutters, but his boots and socks vanish soon after, and he pulls on the fluffy socks. They look kind of awful, the weird red plaid pattern being the only available option in the men’s sizes, and it makes the entire situation even more satisfying.

“They’re cashmere,” Mick says. “Should feel nice.”

Len flexes his feet. “It’s getting between my toes,” he says with clear distaste. 

Despite his complaining, he does wear them for fifteen minutes, even if he makes Mick set a timer for it. He rips them off rather aggressively when it beeps.

Mick grunts as they fly across the room to land on the other chair. He puts his book down and looks at Len over his glasses. Len appears to have not moved, despite the evidence lying on the opposite armchair. He keeps his eyes on his own book as he drawls, “Do you think you’ll do alright if we skate on the frozen pond? Or do you really need a rink?”

Mick throws a pillow at him.

-

Mick gets hit with the twenty-four hour flu the next day, which really throws a wrench in his plans. He reluctantly pushes ‘tea’ to tomorrow, when he can actually make it for Len. He doesn’t trust him to find something actually decent on his own.

He resigns himself to bedrest, and when Len pops up in the early afternoon (he nearly weeps when he feels the familiar icy breeze, because Len doesn’t have a goddamn phone he can call), he makes him go get him some soup from the sandwich place down the street.

He doesn’t even think that this could be something Len likes until he reappears with the soup in his hands, looking unsure about what to do when Mick is sick.

“Ever had chicken noodle?”

“Of course not,” Len says, like it’s obvious, and Mick gives him a look.

“What do you even  _ eat _ ?”  _ Do  _ you even eat, Mick wants to ask, but he doesn’t really want to find out that the man he’s falling for can’t appreciate food.

Len shrugs. “Offerings aren’t what they used to be.”

Mick takes this as a ‘I’ve never tasted real food before’, which opens up a lot of possibilities, but Mick can introduce Len to food later. Right now, he needs to see if he likes soup.  _ Hot  _ soup.

“Try it,” Mick says. 

Len takes the lid off of the container and raises it to his lips, slurping. He immediately spits it back out.

Into the container.

“ _ Fuck, _ ” he says, grimacing. “Is this what a burn feels like?  _ Shit. _ ”

“That’s disgusting,” Mick says. “You’re getting me new soup.”

“It’s not like I can give you anything,” Len points out. “I  _ am  _ a god. I don’t get sick.”

Mick just stares at him until he pops off with a huff, surprisingly without argument. Mick should get sick more often - Len was practically doting on him.

Len comes back fifteen minutes later with some more soup. Mick sets it to the side to let it cool, and Len places his hand on Mick’s forehead. It’s blissfully cool, despite the fact that he’d just been holding a hot container, and Mick can’t help but to sigh into it.

“Is this good?” Len asks. “I saw it on TV once.”

“It’s great,” Mick says, and then grabs Len’s wrist and tugs him all the way into bed. If the north wind can’t get sick, he might as well take advantage of it. “Take this off,” he says, tapping Len’s parka. Len smirks, shrugging it off and going for his shirt.

“Need me to  _ cool _ you down, Mick?" he says, wrapping his arms around Mick and pressing their chests together. “Makes sense,” he continues once his face is pressed into Mick’s shoulder, voice muffled. “You  _ are  _ pretty  _ hot _ .”

Mick is too blissed out to push him away like he deserves.

-

The next day, when Mick is feeling better, he fixes Len some tea, making sure it’s cooled down to the perfect temperature when he gives it to him.

Len takes a sip, makes a face, and calls it ‘bitter and nearly flavorless’.

Mick just dumps the rest into the sink.

-

The second to last day, Mick hits the proverbial jackpot.

He follows the same line of thinking as the tea, not even attempting coffee and jumping straight to hot chocolate. He has a special recipe that his mother left him that’s never failed, something to do with honey and cinnamon and some other ingredient, and there’s no possible way that someone can’t like it.

Len pops in just as the sky starts darkening with pretty clear intentions, striding over to Mick and pulling him in for a kiss, hands wandering. Mick lets himself enjoy it for a little while before he gently pushes Len away, worried that the pot of milk he has simmering will burn. 

Len looks confused, and he’d better like this fucking hot cocoa, because Mick has sacrificed enough as it is. Makes sense that sex would get added to the list at some point.

“Hot chocolate,” Mick says by way of explanation, walking over to the stove and adding in the cocoa. “You’ll like it.”

Len hums, hopping up onto the counter and giving Mick a slow once over. “I’d better,” he says smoothly, and Mick appreciates it, really. He just could do without the temptation.

Len watches as Mick adds in the honey, the cinnamon, and the vanilla, and pours the mixture into two mugs. He puts some mini marshmallows on top, because, to put it frankly, he’d be dishonoring his mother’s memory if he didn’t.

He lets them cool for a few minutes before handing Len a mug, stepping back to see his reaction. 

Len sips it, and his eyes widen. A sharp  _ pop!  _ complete with little snowflakes appearing in the air occurs, and Mick grins at the ugly Christmas sweater that Len is suddenly wearing.

Mick waits patiently as Len takes another long draw of the hot cocoa before placing himself between his thighs, hands on his waist, and pulling Len in for a kiss.

“Needed my congratulatory kiss,” he says, when they pull apart. He doesn’t let Len respond, instead continuing, “Do you prefer stop motion or black and white movies?”

Len growls, instead bringing Mick in for another long kiss. “Movies tomorrow,” he pants when they break apart. “Sex now.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Mick says, grinning in the way he knows makes him look half-crazy, widening his eyes to get the full effect. He also knows it gets to Len like nothing else. 

Len makes a strangled noise and kisses him again, fiercely. Mick forgets about the Christmas movies.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I'm a sucker for elemental type powers, so I had a lot of fun here.
> 
> Also... Len is a god here, but a god that isn't invulnerable to burns and sweating. I can do what I want.


End file.
